To Love A King

Chapter Three-4

Checking herself once more in the looking glass, she twirled round in a rustle and swish of rich satins.

She quit her chamber and searched the private apartments for her mother and Emerald. “They're here!” she blasted the news when she found her mother in her chamber, her maid of honor securing Sabine's headdress.

With one more glance in the looking glass and a deep calming breath that did naught to soothe her jittery nerves, she raised her head and strode down the corridor, ready to meet her king.

* * *

Amethyst stood at the entrance of the crowded great hall. Her eyes landed on the magnificent figure. Oh, Jesu, there he is. She swallowed, her parched throat desperate for a sip of liquid. She stepped inside and took her first longing gaze at King Henry since he swept by her in Westminster Abbey. A page presented her to Queen Catherine first. From her pyramidal head-dress lined with diamonds to her purple robe turned up at the sleeves displaying ermine, she carried all the grace of royalty. Amethyst returned Catherine's smile with a practiced curtsey. She then faced the king. She dared to look into his eyes once again, those clear gold orbs, that playfulness yielding just a bit to maturity. A smile produced matching dimples in his cheeks. He nodded in recognition, yet his eyes questioned, as if he'd seen her before, but not knowing where. Those eyes sparkled with a lustre matching his cloth of gold doublet, trimmed with sable, the open front displaying a French chemay underneath. The shirt, open at his neck, exposed a mat of red-gold chest hair. The skirted doublet gave way to the sturdy legs adorned with slashed breeches to the knee, his hose woven with gold threads. His fashionable leather duckbill shoes showed gold silk within the slashings of the leather, gold hose peeking out. Diamonds adorned the slashings. Dazzling her, he sparkled from head to toe.

“Your grace, welcome to Warwick Castle.” As she curtsied low, he held out his hand. It was large, yet graceful and slender, with fingers that could compel a keyboard into an exquisite blend of harmony, fingers that could run rivers through a harp…

She rose and grasped his fingertips. She and her king, that illusory object of her fancies, touched for the first time.

He smiled, obviously pleased at his adoring subject. “Lady Amethyst, the Lady Sabine tells me you are quite a talented lutist and organist.” His light and amicable voice eased her. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

Her hand still tingled where he'd touched it. She opened her mouth to reply, nodded and cleared her throat. “Oh, yes, your grace. I would enjoy performing for your grace during your visit, as I've composed several songs for the occasion.” She hadn't meant to blurt it all out at once. But at this point she was beyond thinking, her mouth and brain two separate entities.

“We would be pleased. It would be an appropriate accent to these splendid festivities.”

As the king moved on, she realized how cold and stiff her fingers were. She cringed in embarrassment, hoping he hadn't noticed. She scurried over to the fire and warmed her trembling hands.

The festivities began in earnest the next day. Servers cut the Yule log, and the king with the immediate members of his party attended Mass in the chapel along with Amethyst, Sabine and Emerald. Later they enjoyed masques, miming, songs and joking jesters and fools. The great hall glowed under thousands of candles in their talons fixed in the chandeliers above. Fine linen draped the royal dais, set with plates and goblets of gold. Fires blazed in the hearths. Minstrels played lively tuned in the loft overlooking the great hall. To Amethyst, this was the next best thing to actually being at court. Warwick Castle glittered like a palace, graced by royalty. She wished she'd been born into such splendor.

The king invited Amethyst to join the King's Musick, the company of court musicians, for a few pieces. Thirty members of the current King's Musick made up the company: lutists playing the treble lute, the larger archlute, a theorbo and cittern. It included a harpist; a recorder and hornpipe player; two clarions; three musicians each playing the virginals; a dulcimer; three viola-da-gambas; two viols; and a rebec. The gallery also had a clavichord. Amethyst doubled as the clavichordist, and thrilled at its somber strains that echoed and swirled through the great hall.

When the king signaled his chief steward to begin the meal, the party took to the tables and feasted. Servers brought game upon gold trays: venison, crane, quail, duck, rabbit, goose, seafood: oysters, crayfish, prawns, and the king's favorite, baked lampreys. They washed this down with wine, and indulged in an array of sweets featuring a sugar sculpture of Warwick Castle.

When the servers cleared all that away, the dancing began. Amethyst flexed her fingers, stood up from the clavichord and came down to watch the courtiers dance to the sprightly tunes from the loft. She swayed and hummed to the music. Oh, how she wished someone, anyone, would ask her to dance…the thought of dancing with the king crossed her mind and she chided herself. How absurd! He led out the first dance with Queen Catherine in a pavane. Amethyst couldn't take her eyes off the king's strong leg muscles as he led the queen round the floor. The King's Musick then played a few motets composed by the king himself.

He now danced with Lady Margaret, bantering as they pranced along. Margaret had no trouble keeping up with the energetic king, and he led her back to her seat.

Then he crossed the great hall, taking long strides, closer, closer. She blinked to make sure this wasn't a dream. He approached her, reaching for her hand. Her heart simply stopped.

The music swirled round them and the candles' glow spun over her head, a galaxy of dazzling suns. “Would you care to dance, Lady Amethyst?”

“I—I—” she stammered, clearing her throat. Come on, voice, don't quit me now! “I would be honored, your grace, but my dancing leaves much to be desired.”

“Simply follow me, then.” His smile lit up the entire great hall.

As their hands touched, hot blood rushed through her veins. They moved together so naturally, as one with the music. His sense of rhythm and timing flowed through to her. The music captured their souls, aiding the spark already glowing between them. They danced and enjoyed each other as two young people sharing their love of music and movement.

When the music ended, he released her, his eyes twinkling in the candles' glow. “Thank you, my dear, you are quite the dancer. A superb array of talents.” He excused himself, leaving her there, rooted to the floor in a daze.

* * *

The following day, a page brought Amethyst a message to her chambers. King Henry wanted her to meet him in the conservatory for a musical afternoon! She lunged for her lute, her music, and asked her chambermaid to lay out her burgundy velvet gown with the rabbit-trimmed square neckline. Simple and elegant, it wasn't flashy enough for eveningwear, just appropriate to join the king for an afternoon.

He had not yet arrived when she entered the conservatory. Of course, why would a king sit waiting for a subject? Protocol demanded that she arrive first. She spent the next few moments tuning her lute and practicing scales on the virginals with cold trembling fingers.

The door opened and he then joined her, alone, without an entourage, dressed in a cream chemay under a satin doublet, with velvet breeches and silk hose. He was completely devoid of jewels except for a square ruby ring on his thumb. He greeted Amethyst, commented on the lovely weather, and took his harp from its velvet-lined case. “I would play a little ditty I wrote whilst riding here to Warwick.”

“You wrote a song upon your horse?” she marveled. “How do you compose without an instrument, my lord?”

“'Tis nothing.” He shrugged. “The notes enter my head, the melody plays to me over and over, and by the time I can sit down to a sheet of parchment, I can write them down. There is no need for an instrument. Not 'til the actual playing.”

“That is magnificent, my lord.” She shook her head in wonder. “I cannot compose without the instrument.”

“Ah, mayhap you shall learn.” He gave her a glance and a smile. “Try it. All gifted musicians have the ability. Do you not ever have melodies playing through your head?”

“Oh, all the time!” She nodded. “Especially in dreams. Beautiful melodies visit me in my dreams. But I awaken and forget them so quickly. It would never occur to me to write them down.”

“Try it next time,” he suggested. “Keep parchment and pen by your bed. Write the notes down whilst they are still in your head.”

“I shall try that, sire. I always had the desire to compose. I simply didn't think I had the ability.”

He positioned his fingers on his harp and she noticed his ring didn't even touch the delicate strings. The harmonic strains of his simple tune filled the room. She began strumming chords with her plectrum, accompanying his melody. The strains blended, creating a complete tonal consonance that only musicians completely in tune with each other could deliver. His eyes closed and on he played, swaying with the music, a dreamlike expression on his face. His entire being became one with the instrument. On they played together, exchanging each other's music, adding notes here and there, changing a chord or two. He accompanied her on the harp while she played the virginals. She was especially proud of her singing voice, a clear sharp soprano, and prided herself on her ability to sing such high notes. A resonant baritone himself, the king harmonized with her beautifully, just as she had dreamed so long ago! To sit with the king and share her love for music…this was more of an honor that any titles or riches.

Later they sat on the plush chairs facing the windows overlooking the River Avon. “Now that we're aware we can share the language of music so well, what about a verbal exchange?” the king challenged.

Oh, she was up for this matching of wits. She wanted so badly to show off her years of tutoring. “On what topic do you wish to engage in discourse, your grace?” Besides horticulture, science and philosophy, would King Henry ask her feelings about being the daughter of a murdered heir to the throne?

“Have you any prospects of marriage?” That shot twixt the eyes caught her off guard.

She'd expected him to start with something superficial—her Latin studies or even her knowledge of Greek, but not this!

“Why, nay, your grace. I would like to continue my studies for a bit longer before I consider marriage. We have had wonderful tutors, several from Harrow and Eton. I so enjoy learning, about philosophy and science arithmetic because I enjoy numbers, but most of all I prefer music. 'Tis so much like arithmetic, the way the quarter-notes and half-notes all must add up to fit the time signature, the number of beats you must put in each measure. 'Tis very much a blend of body and soul.”

“Aye, Lady Amethyst, 'tis a harmonious blend of science and art, but one need not be a scientist to enjoy it.” He gave her a sly grin.

“So, with all my studies, attending services at five a.m. and falling into bed quite tired at night, I have not given much thought to a parti. I would finish one chapter ere opening another.”

Now his grin brightened his eyes. Yet he had not a wrinkle. “Quite wise, Lady Amethyst. One or two more years will not hurt. Although my Queen Catherine was but sixteen when she married my departed brother Arthur, and royals are known to be betrothed virtually at birth, a matter of necessity. I always relished the idea of marriage following love, instead of the other way round.”

“Aye, your grace.” Very noble, indeed. Almost the same words spoken by Topaz. But coming from Henry, it seemed to have more credibility.

“I trust you will find a suitable parti, Lady Amethyst. For your dowry chest must be quite generous,” he commented, as if he didn't know.

“Oh, aye, your grace. Thanks to you and your kind benevolences, having given us back…er, giving us Warwick Castle,” she corrected herself.

“Aye, your grandfather might have been king,” he admitted. “But I am king and I must do my best. You see, Lady Amethyst, my father ran the realm a different way than I. He won the crown by fighting. A poor, struggling pretender, he virtually plucked it from the head of Richard's corpse. I came into it in my own right. I was born to be king. If only it could have been that simple through history, had the crown been passed from father to son through the ages, instead of having been snatched through subterfuge and wars, it would have been so much simpler. Then again, I wouldn't be king at all.” He chuckled, as if being king were just another occupation, like tinsmithing.

Oh, would Topaz have loved to hear that, she thought.

“My father selected his councilors for their loyalty instead of military prowess,” he explained. “His was the last reign of his kind, and I plan to be known as the first king of what I like to call modern times. The Dark Ages are over, Amethyst. This is the rebirth…the renaissance, if you will.”

“I am glad, your grace.” She was proud of her ability to sustain eye contact with him and not turn to blubbering mush. “I would marry a man for love, rather than the union of our lands.”

“And what of your sister?” His brow c****d in curiosity.

“Oh, Emerald is only—”

He cut her off. “Nay, your older sister, Topaz.”

She hoped he wouldn't ask. Oh, if only he'd forgotten Topaz even existed. “She lives at Kenilworth with her husband Matthew Gilford. She runs an animal hospital and distributes alms to the poor.”

“Ah, yes, Gilford, Duke of Lancaster.” He broke eye contact and glanced out the window. “His father fought beside mine at Bosworth. Kenilworth and the title were granted to him at that time.”

Topaz didn't seem to care how her husband's magnificent castle, lands, and title had been attained. As long as there was ample room for her animals.

“Topaz has a boy, Edward, named after our father,” she informed him, not sure he knew every time a subject birthed another.

“Pray God he won't follow in your father's footsteps,” he quipped. That was still a very touchy subject in her family, and she was surprised the king chose to jest about it. Yet that was just one of the things that enchanted her about him. His ability to laugh—at just about anything.

“I pray for the same, your grace.” Oh, did she! Pray God Topaz had mellowed with the rearing of her son and the running of the castle and her animals and abandoned her so-called quest. “I believe Edward will become a faithful subject, as will my sons and daughters.”

“Indeed. Well, my Lady, I must bid you Godspeed for now, for we must prepare for the New Year's festivities on the morrow and the journey back to London.” He stood, took her hand in his, pressed his lips to it and released it. As he turned to leave, she curtsied, awestruck with this private audience, bursting to tell her mother and Emerald all about it.

As the king swept out of the room, she touched her hand to her lips, at the very place where he'd kissed her. She gazed out over the Avon, seeing nothing, only the delicate strains of his music running through her head.

* * *

On New Year's Day the entire household gathered in the great hall. With the king's gracious permission, Sabine collected all the servants, from her Maids of Honor to the stablehands, and they were granted the honor of spending a few hours in the king's presence. Sabine had gotten them all gifts, and they were distributed before the king and queen's arrival. When the royal retinue arrived, they exchanged gifts with Sabine and the girls. The king had presented them all with necklaces–pear shaped diamonds suspended on gold chains of varying lengths–the longest with the biggest diamond for Sabine, and gradually smaller sizes for the girls. They presented the king with a solid gold replica of the key to Warwick Castle's main gate mounted on a plaque depicting the Warwickshire arms of the bear and ragged staff. “This represents our eternal gratitude for granting us this land, your grace,” Sabine told the king upon presentation of the key. “Warwick Castle will always be your home as it is ours.”

He gracefully accepted the gift, kissing Sabine's hand.

“God willing, we shall meet again, Lady Amethyst.” Henry took her hand as the retinue prepared to depart for London the following day. She curtsied, his cloak a flash of glitter as she dipped down and back up again.

“I look forward to it, sire.” She tried to keep the quiver out of her voice. She wanted to say more, but he'd already moved on, for there were many good-byes to be said, and when the castle emptied of the retinue, her heart hit a bottom as hard as the stone floor. This brief taste of court life had been her most magnificent experience. Oh, yes, this is the life I long for, she sighed. But alas it wasn't her destiny.